Scribbles and Drabbles

Notebook Drabbles 60 - Victor's Failure

Orginial: Pre2016, Rewritten 2023

Winning a battle was easy. Winning a war was far more complex, and the aftermath left everything teetering as people waited with bated breath to see if the war was truly over. All that would be needed was a spark. For Cornelius, the wait involved a lot of paperwork and meetings. The brotherhood ruled true and correct. They'd captured all known Reverents and begun converting them to the ways of the Brotherhood.

Most accepted defeat with grace. Cornelius disagreed with this sentiment. He'd met many Reverents who looked dazed or outright broken. The exact details were unsure, but something happened in those final days that exhausted their worthy adversaries.

The biggest issues that any of them had caused were caused by their untrained children. Unlike the parents, the children had no problem making their dislike of the new strict rules known. They complained, dug their heels in and created elaborate pranks to escape, and more draw eyes to them and reveal the truth to the world. It would be amusing in any other circumstances, but in these, it made Cornelius worry. 

A cup of tea appeared next to his hand, the comic teacup out of place next to the regal tones of the office. "You look exhausted," Airen half said, half observed, taking a careful seat at the chair opposite him.

"Isn't everyone?"

Airen shrugged. "A lot used most of their reserves in the fight, but most are recovering. Drink up. I didn't poison it, I promise." Airen rubbed his shoulder where bandages hid a deep and nasty bite wound. 

"I would hope so." Cornelius snorted but took a sip. It was well brewed. Airen learned from his Grandfather how to make a proper cup of tea. Airen was also a captured soldier whose choice to make his new ruler tea could be read in many different ways. "While I am sorry Tomas did that to you, I can't make him revoke his claim to you."

"Drat," Airen's voice was deadpan enough to make it clear he said the word sarcastically. "I'll have to keep putting up with his assistant nesting habits. The horror, the shame."

"That wasn't what you wanted?"

"Not even close. This is my fault for challenging him while he was in a blood rage. I should have knocked him out instead," Airen said, voice more serious and oddly resigned.

Cornelius winced, hiding it from his expression. There was that tone again. The resigned acceptance of things with no passion or anger over the situation. Maybe it would hit later, but it was too soon for everyone to be like this. It was a grey sludge around their shoulders, and it wasn't healthy. What had he missed? They lost, but losing didn't end the fight like this. Where was the fire that had them fighting to begin with? 

"Where's Tomas?" Cornelius decided that was the safer conversation topic. He sent his email and shut down the laptop. As well-behaved as Airen was, he shouldn't be wandering about without an escort.

"Who knows? Tracking Zola down. He hasn't checked in for a day or two, and people are waiting for someone to get their teeth into for disobeying," Airen mimed, biting. "Everyone's on eggshells."

Another wince. The lack of fight in former Reverents left some of the Brotherhood enforcers a little too eager to dole out punishments. Cornelius overturned a few that would endanger them to scrutiny. People outside of their particular circles didn't know about any of this. Zola was a good example. He worked in a government job that meant he couldn't disappear into thin air, leaving him with more movement than they'd typically allow former enemies.

"You're not worried he'd slipped his leash?"

"It's Zola. The dude follows the honour code as strictly as one can. He has a habit of getting distracted, is all." Airen rubbed his bandage idly, playing with a loose corner. "Last year, he phoned to let us know he was in Scotland for two weeks at some conference on the third day of being there. He gets a bit absentminded."